Belarus greets us with biting cold the moment we step out of the airport. The Cyrillic signs loom overhead, unreadable, making me feel like a lost tourist, which, in truth, I am.
Cherrie drags us through the city streets, eager for castles, landmarks, and endless photos. The wide boulevards are hushed, red brick buildings and golden domes gleaming against a gray sky. Cars glide past in silence, even their engines subdued by the chill.
Strangers speak Russian or Belarusian, words I can’t decipher. Every sign screams: you are far from home.
I try to remind Cherrie why we’re here, but she waves me off. “Responsibilities after fun.”
We stop at a small restaurant, hunger gnawing at us.
“You can’t just point at a dish and say ‘this,’ Cherrie,” Reed laughs as she does exactly that.
“If I
